


The Stars Shine on our Souls

by anarchycox



Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [14]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Astral Projection, Dancing, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Snark, dream like fic, happy ever after, soft fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Witchers when they meditate can astral project their souls, experience the world in a different way. A story that shows us the different paths they walk, and how Geralt and Lambert once had a moment, and finally decades later decide to act on it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746034
Comments: 29
Kudos: 143





	The Stars Shine on our Souls

**Author's Note:**

> for my bingo card spot "Dance Under the Stars"

_Meditation achieves many things for a witcher, and is an important skill to cultivate. It will aid your already accelerated healing, centre you before a hunt. A witcher who can effectively meditate, can use it in place of sleep for up to a week. In those who are incredibly adept at the experience, after a few hundred years they can manage two weeks without sleep. There are stories of witchers who achieve such a deep meditation that they are able to leave their bodies behind and travel the world. This is of course just a tale and bares no basis in fact._

_There are three steps to achieving true balance in your meditation._

_1\. A space to be uninterrupted_  
_2\. Steady, deep breathing_  
_3\. An ability to completely clear your mind_

(from M. Dostorev’s manual for witchers)

_Witcher, witcher, will you fly?_  
_Is it a dream, is it real?_  
_Who tells you that it is all a lie?_  
_Close your eyes, witcher, feel._  
_Fly, wolves, run wolves, dream wolves._  
_Be free, little wolves._

(carved into the dorms at Kaer Morhen)

  
They were only free in winter. Wolves didn’t hide away in winter to make people hurt in the hard months, to make them realize how much better it was to have witchers than not. They weren’t feasting on the flesh of virgins, they weren’t hibernating. They were being free. Never all at once, they had learned that when they had all traveled too far and too long and came back to bodies close to death. 

At least one always stayed aware when the others walked, kept the flesh safe, while the soul wandered.

The wolf school walked the path eternally, but it didn’t mean their footsteps could always be seen.

And that they all walked on two feet.

Eskel’s soul wandered the world on four legs, though the shape changed. When he meditated, when his soul was free of a witcher’s body, he was an animal, sometimes a wolf, sometimes a buck, or a horse, once a hedgehog - he hadn’t gone very far, the worlds was so huge when you were that small. There were stories of the ghostly deer who guided woodsman home, an image of a wolf protecting caravans, but people always said it was smoke or a dream. Animal protectors, who heard of such a thing.

Eskel liked running with the other animals, where scars were ignored because they didn’t matter, no words, no shouts. Just running. Running on his real two legs, never felt as good as running on his soul’s four. He ran the whole continent covered in a few leaps of paws, the sky scraped at his antlers enough that the stars moved. Once Geralt’s soul had ridden him when he had run so swiftly he skimmed over the water, to lands they would never see in person. The food smelled rich and dark, full of secrets, and the music was different, but a nudge on a shoulder, a whisper saying time to return to Kaer Morhen had pulled them back. 

Eskel ran when he was free.

Vesemir watched. A witcher never was able to be still. When his soul was loosed from his body he picked a cross roads and just sat. He watched the world move along, often there was nothing to watch, but there was such peace in watching an empty crossroads, one that was new, one that was older than him. When he was just his soul, he could hear every footstep, every wagon wheel that had crossed by, feel the hopes and sadness, see a million journeys in the empty space. He enjoyed thinking about all the ways people had changed and how they hadn’t over the centuries. 

Crossroads he stood at, never had bandits pause there in wait. No wheel would get stuck in a rut, and if you were lost, the wind would pull you in the right direction. All his boys had spent time sitting at cross roads with him, though for Lambert that stillness was more a punishment than pleasure and this freedom of the soul was never to be used as a punishment. It was the one gift that had been bestowed on them. And he knew from those he had run into, the wolves were the only to engage in it. Having their schools attacked hadn’t bonded the others the way it had bonded the wolves. They could never have that surety that their bodies were completely safe with each other. Vesemir knew that he could even fully trust Lambert.

Once Geralt had sat with him at the cross roads and watched. “There’s Jaskier,” he had said and pointed to a memory in the ground. “Months ago, singing.”

“He has a nice voice,” Vesemir agreed. A man stepped into the cross roads, no light from the moon to guide him. “Left path, young man, she is waiting for you.” Vesemir nodded as the man headed in the right direction. “Do you love him, the bard?”

“No,” Geralt was clearly listening to the song buried into the mud and muck. “He is my friend.”

Vesemir nodded, he knew where Geralt’s heart lay and was relieved that the smiling and generously hearted bard hadn’t changed that. He listened. “West, there is a crossroads west, flowers are blooming, covering the sign.” He traveled there, the extra couple hundred years giving him the ability to manipulate the world just a bit move the flowers out of the way. There was a lost doll in the ditch. He couldn’t picked it up, but urged it to find its way home and it disappeared to be miraculously found under the bed come morning.

He could feel the dawn that couldn’t be seen, and returned to his body, content.

Geralt loved cities when he was free. They hurt his body so much, overwhelmed his senses, made him hurt. But free of his body he could enjoy the press of bodies, the chaos, the secrets and promises that lay behind each door. He checked on Jaskier once a month. He had tried to check on Yen in this state, and she had just said, no functioning dick, no place here, and he understood that. He wandered city streets when he was unrestrained, listened to conversations, nudged people away from the wrong alleys, stopped under children’s windows, to protect them from the nightmares that were trying to slither in. He would kiss away the frown between a woman’s brows as she stared at the sea, waiting for a ship to come in. Guards lost the trail of someone who was just trying to survive. Godlings adored when his soul visited. He would play for hours hide and seek through the city, them causing mischief him trying to right it. And yes sometimes he caused mischief too.

He protected, because he couldn’t not, and he played, and he relished. His soul relished what it couldn’t endure in a proper form. 

Eskel seldom joined him, because the city was not what his soul needed, and Vesemir would appear at the occasional crossroads of where an town had an old road and new road meet up. Lambert joined him regularly though, and that is usually when the mischief would happen.

No one was allowed to know what Lambert did when his soul was free.

*

“Why do you look like shit?” Lambert was in the courtyard and Geralt sighed. He was not in the mood for Lambert to be the first thing he encountered when he arrived home. “I mean more than normal. Because you always look like shit.”

“Yes, I know,” Geralt sighed. He just shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That bad huh?”

“Jaskier already tried to fix it, and it didn’t so I doubt you will, not that you’d try.”

“That hurts me right here.” Geralt watched Lambert thump his chest, where supposedly he had a heart, though Geralt had seldom seen it. “What your sorceress break your heart?”

Geralt flinched a bit. “I wish,” was all he said and went to the stables to take of Roach. He settled in, and Lambert must have said something because Eskel came and hugged him, and asked if he’d want to walk together soon. Geralt nodded and they all focused on the chores, readying for winter. 10 days later everything was in good enough shape, that they could begin their winter routine.

Vesemir watched over their bodies as they sunk in. Lambert was gone first, to whatever he did when he was free, and then Eskel, and Geralt cursed because he was struggling, so much in his mind. His eyes were closed but he didn’t need to see to know Vesemir was coming over. He felt the man’s comforting hands on his shoulders and a kiss on his brow. “This too will pass, boy, just breathe.” 

Geralt matched his breath to Vesemir’s and slowly sank down, until the weight of the world was off his shoulders and he was free. He followed the traces of Eskel in the air until he met the wolf beside a lake. He watched Eskel grow until he was as big as a house and Geralt’s soul climbed on, buried his fingers in fur that felt like stars, leaned against him. Eskel’s feet flew across the ground, climbing the mountains of Skellige in a blink until he leapt and they were in the stars, swimming in the darkness and the shine. He lay against Eskel and watched the stars fly by. Saw planets and worlds he couldn’t comprehend, it was all so unbearably vast, reminded him, how he was just a small part of a larger scheme, a star in the infinite. It was comforting.

Vesemir pulled them home, and Geralt felt lighter. They were all back and he looked at them. “We broke the djinn’s wish. And there was nothing in our hearts. My heart broke that I wasn’t heartbroken.” There was a sympathetic hug from Eskel, and a nod of understanding from Vesemir.

“Well, that is fucking stupid,” Lambert said and left the meditation room.

“Caring as ever,” Geralt shouted after him.

Vesemir clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go have a drink.” 

The next walk, Geralt sat at a cross roads with Vesemir, and it was busy that night, something was wrong somewhere and people were fleeing. They never saw Vesemir guiding them, protecting them. There was a girl crying for her mama in the back of a wagon, and Geralt slipped in beside her. He kissed her brow and smoothed her hair, even as her da was trying to offer kind words that were falling on closed ears. Geralt knew the mama wasn’t coming back. And the girl was young enough that without help she wouldn’t remember what the woman looked like. Geralt plucked the image of the woman from the man’s mind and implanted, fixed it into the girl’s mind. “She walks with you,” Geralt promised her and the girl’s tears stopped. 

They stayed at the same cross roads for hours, helping people find there way. He was so used to saving people in a bloody more murderous way, that this reminded him why they walked the path. It was gentle, kind. No one expected kindness from witchers, and it was nice to have it accepted, even if it would never be known.

When they returned to their bodies, Geralt smiled at Vesemir, “Thank you, that helped.”

Lambert was back as well and just rolled his eyes. “You are such a -” he didn’t finish the sentence just walked out, as he always did. 

Geralt’s gaze trailed after him. In the morning Geralt met Lambert in the courtyard, and just raised a brow after he picked a sword off the rack. Lambert smirked a bit, and soon enough they were working their forms together as they had for decades, moving in seamless harmony. They circled and pressed and it relaxed something in Geralt, like it always did. They were both breathing heavy at the end and leaned on a wall. “Why do none of us ever get to walk with you?”

“Because it is when I am free of all this bullshit,” Lambert gestured at the keep. “It is when I can almost forget that I never wanted this, that I hate it, and the world hates me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Geralt looked at him. “I’ve never hated you Lambert.”

“Fuck off,” Lambert scowled at him. “If you didn’t hate me, you wouldn’t have -” Geralt met his eyes and the silence was charged. “Just fuck off.”

“Let me walk with you,” Geralt tried to make his voice not sound desperate, as he realized just how much he had misunderstood something decades ago.

“Told you, it isn’t for another witcher,” Lambert snapped.

“It isn’t about that, it is about us,” Geralt replied. 

“You’ll make fun,” Lambert scowled, “I’m going to go blow shit up.”

Three nights later though when he went to the meditation room, Lambert was the only one in there. “Fine,” he said. He sneered at Geralt, “But if you tell either of them what you see, I’ll kill you.”

“You can never get the drop on me,” Geralt said. 

“No, I’ve never wanted to get the drop on you. Because if I did, you’d be dead.”

Geralt was intrigued by that, but there was a larger concern. “You don’t fly without an anchor.”

“They’ll come check on us in a few hours,” Lambert replied. “But wasn’t doing this with anyone else around.”

That was a bit odd, but he didn’t question it, not when he was getting to see something none of them had before. Geralt settled on the ground, placed his hands on his thighs. He was surprised when Lambert settled in front of him, their knees almost touching. Their breathing matched, and their eyes closed. When Geralt flew away for the first time, he let himself respond to the pull of Lambert’s soul. They all had ignored it at his request, one of the few gifts they could give him. But he was welcome today. The pull brought him to a field, and Lambert was standing in the middle, his soul in simple peasant’s garb. Geralt had half expected him to be a grumpy dragon bellowing from mountain tops. Fireflies were circling him, and the air smelled sweet.

It was more peaceful than anything he had ever associated with Lambert.

Apparently when he was free, Lambert communed with nature. Not something that Geralt had expected. Starlight began to drip from the heavens and Geralt fell to his knees in shock, as Lambert began to dance. 

Lambert’s soul danced. Not the dance of weapon with dodge and thrust, but true dancing. A mix of things he had seen on stages, and in royal courts, during village festivals, things he had seen godlings do on the longest day of the year. It was gentler than he had ever seen Lambert be, ever thought the man could be.

Joy.

When Lambert was free from the constraints of being a witcher, he was pure joy, just as Vesemir was compassion, and Eskel was freedom, and Geralt was grace. Watching Lambert dance, Geralt thought for a moment that maybe the gods were real and did care about them. Geralt’s soul sat on the ground and watched as Lambert spun, twisted, and the fireflies and starlight seemed to wrap around him.

Lambert was spinning ever closer and Geralt could feel his hands shaking. Lambert stopped in front of him, and the smile on his face wasn’t a smirk or a sneer. It was a smile Geralt had seen once, long ago, and had wanted desperately. But he had walked, no he had run away. Lambert held out his hand, and Geralt took it, let Lambert pull his soul up and then Lambert’s hand was on his waist. 

Geralt hated dancing, it made him feel, large, awkward. But Lambert was giving him that smile, and not mouthing off, and they were touching even if it wasn’t skin. It was a dream he would have never imagined, or let himself have. They were being watched, by the stars, animals, the fae, and he didn’t take his eyes off of Lambert. “Lambert?” Geralt whispered but Lambert just smiled and spun him. Geralt realized then that Lambert’s soul didn’t talk, it didn’t need that defensive layer his snark provided. He was quiet because he didn’t need to be loud as armor. “I’m sorry,” Geralt told him. “I shouldn’t have run. I shouldn’t have kept running.”

Lambert stopped them and he pressed a kiss against Geralt’s jaw and was gone. Geralt’s soul stood in the starlight for a moment before it followed. He opened his eyes, and Lambert was staring at him. “Fuck you,” he told Geralt and got up and left. 

Geralt stayed there, in the meditation room, wondering how to fix it. 

Three nights later, none of them were flying as they all needed proper sleep, but he couldn’t rest and found himself in the courtyard. It was a full moon and the air was bitter but it felt good against his skin. He had a fur mantle on, and stood in the empty space. He found his feet moving, not in the battle formations that Vesemir had drilled in their heads, but in the dance he and Lambert shared.

“Fuck you are a clumsy oaf,” Lambert said from a bit above.

Geralt looked up at him. “So, show me how to do it right.” He kept moving and stumbled a bit on a twist. He could hear a sigh and Lambert’s footsteps. Then the hand was on his waist. Lambert was warm as he began to guide Geralt around the courtyard. It was easy to move together, just like practice forms, like battle, but so very different. It was what they could have had if they hadn’t made so mistakes that one night. “I remember what your lips feel like,” Geralt said.

“Good for you.”

“I’d like to feel them again.”

“Until you find another sorceress,” Lambert sneered a bit. He twisted and pushed and they circled the whole courtyard, “Until you remember I’m just a good enough, until there is better.”

Geralt stopped and his fingers cupped Lambert’s face. “I didn’t think it right, for two witchers to love each other, it would make them weak.”

“You are already weak in the brain,” Lambert growled and tried to step back. “Geralt, you can’t fix decades in one fucking dance.”

“But maybe I could with the next one or the one after that, or the one after that. I’ll dance with you until I fix it,” Geralt was close to begging. He pressed his forehead against Lambert’s. “Let me dance with you until I fix it.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll dance with you, until our end.”

“That was stupid and sappy, you hang out with that bard too much.” But Lambert wasn’t stepping away. Instead he started dancing again. “Might as well start the next one. Just for once, follow my fucking lead.”

Geralt nodded and matched his steps to Lambert’s and they danced around the courtyard in silence, and for Geralt, in hope. When they stopped Lambert kissed his jaw, just as he had done when their souls had been free. “You can have a next dance,” Lambert said and left the courtyard.

Geralt slept well that night, and the next their souls met in a tavern in Oxenfurt, and danced to Jaskier’s music, and another they danced on the ocean to the song of sirens, and sometimes their bodies danced in the courtyard as well. It was almost spring when Lambert’s dance led him to Lambert’s bedroom, and Geralt knew he was forgiven and things would always be different now. It didn’t scare him, it filled him with happiness. 

When they lay on the bed, Lambert looked at him, “you aren’t the worse dance partner,” was what he managed to say.

And Geralt understood. “I love you too,” he promised, and they danced an entirely new dance, one that they planned to enjoy for decades, for centuries to come.


End file.
